


Three Pips To Tell Them Apart

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-27
Updated: 2007-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm and Trip help each other come to terms with the events of Similitude.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

Â§Â§Â§

Malcolmâ€™s gaze shifted of its own accord and, not for the first time, rested on a set of pips. 

Malcolm had not quite been prepared for the flood of emotion that had hit him when heâ€™d seen Trip, his friend Trip, standing near the torpedo casing that contained the body of his clone, Sim. It was the first time he was seeing the two side by side and it was, not unexpectedly, a shocking sight. Even more so because now that Sim was dressed in a Starfleet uniform, only three small pieces of metal distinguished Trip from his exact copy: the three pips that Malcolmâ€™s gaze kept seeking, as if he unconsciously needed to remind himself who of the two identical men was the one standing and breathing, and who the one lying inert in the makeshift casket. 

Indeed, not long before it had been Trip lying unconscious, and Malcolmâ€™s brain â€“ or was it his heart? The two were warring at the moment â€“ seemed to have a hard time grasping the fact that things had capsized. Well, too much had happened in too little time: it was no surprise he felt so scrambled. 

Forcing his eyes to shift from Tripâ€™s shoulder to his face, Malcolm thought that, under a slight frown, his friend looked numb. Against all logic he almost envied him. He suspected numb would be better than destabilised, which was how he himself felt. His â€˜comfort zoneâ€™ lay within the boundaries of things like order, rules, honour; and the creation of a clone for spare parts had thrown him off balance. His brain told him that it went against all of those principles, yet his heart wasnâ€™t quite as certain. Every time he glanced at Trip and then his clone he was seized by a feeling of liberation rivalled by one just as strong of failure, and not knowing which of the two he should heed made him almost light-headed with confusion. 

Archer was in the middle of his speech. Malcolm mulled it was just as well he couldnâ€™t focus on it. Words! Empty or meaningful as they may be, he doubted anything the Captain was saying could help him come to terms with his unease. 

The moment finally came to close the casing and jettison it. Malcolm went throught the steps quickly and to all appearances with appropriate professionalism, but his heart was heavy. The man inside that casket had not only willingly sacrificed his life to save Tripâ€™s, but devised a plan to save all of theirs. They â€“ he â€“ owed him. Sim might have lived but a few days but in that short span had managed to earn his respect, if not his outright friendship; and not just because he was so uncannily like Enterpriseâ€™s Chief Engineer â€“ in fact, more like in spite of it. 

Clenching his jaw, Malcolm watched the casing as it was abandoned to the uncaring stars. He cast a glance at Trip, and then at Archer. While Tripâ€™s face was still inexpressive, the Captainâ€™s was impenetrably hard, and Malcolm wondered if the man hoped that the cold vastness of space would carry away not only Simâ€™s body but his own pangs of conscience. He seriously doubted Archer would ever be able to forget how far he had bent his ethics to try and save Earth. Or had saving Earth been, perhaps even unconsciously, an excuse to be able to do what he done in order to save his best friend? 

And then it was over. People began to file out of the Armoury â€“ that Armoury which was beginning to serve a bit too often as a place for last farewells â€“ and Malcolm watched Trip walk away in a daze. He felt his heart go out to him. He should go after him, but his feet were anchored to the ground. Closing his eyes briefly, he turned around and went to his console, where he spent the next few hours trying in vain to concentrate on anything but what theyâ€™d just been through.

Â§Â§Â§

It almost midnight when Malcolm finally stopped in front of Tripâ€™s door. 

He had crossed paths with him a few times during the day, and it had been quite obvious that the man wasnâ€™t his usual self. Well, it was to be expected. Malcolm had wanted to say something, but he hadnâ€™t known exactly what; words seemed so inadequate; so he had said nothing. Worse; he had behaved as if nothing had happened, even when the awkwardness between them had belied all pretences of normality. 

But going to his own quarters that evening after staying on duty for as long as his feet could hold him upright, Malcolm had felt a heavy weight upon his conscience. He had tried to dismiss it, hiding behind the weak excuse that heâ€™d never been good at talking to people, but the gnawing had only grown more insufferable. It wouldnâ€™t leave him alone; so in the end he had put aside the book he had been trying in vain to read, and dragged himself over to his friendâ€™s room. He might not be able to help Trip, but perhaps he could silence the nagging voice that made him feel like a heartless bastard.

Malcolm raised his hand and pressed the bell before his resolve failed and he changed his mind. The moment he heard the sound, he told himself it was late for a visit. He had a sudden flashback of the time heâ€™d tried to offer Trip comfort after Elizabethâ€™s death, of how it had felt being on the receiving end of his anger, and almost hoped his call wouldnâ€™t be answered. He wasnâ€™t keen on experiencing that again. Barely had he formulated the thought, though, that the door slid open. Perhaps a visit had been expected. 

A look at Trip was enough to reassure him at least of the fact that he hadnâ€™t woken the man up: he was still in uniform and seemed fully awake. Something flitted across the Engineerâ€™s features, something vaguely akin to disappointment. Then his expression became blank. 

â€œWhat is it?â€ he enquired flatly.

Not what youâ€™d call a warm welcome. 

Malcolm forced himself to hold his friendâ€™s uncommunicative gaze. â€œIâ€¦ couldnâ€™t sleep,â€ he said, finding his voice. He looked away briefly, before locking gaze again with a pair of blue eyes that seemed to have lost all of their spirit but not their capacity to bore into him. â€œAnd I thought you mightâ€¦ like some company.â€ He had wanted to say need, but that telling little word didnâ€™t make it past the barriers of his ingrained restraint. 

There was a silence. That damn awkwardness again, which made Malcolmâ€™s heart clench. Trip couldnâ€™t do this to him: encourage him to open up, make him come out his shell and then, just when he felt comfortable and safe, turn a cold shoulder. Was the understanding he thought he shared with this one person a lie? 

Clamping down on his emotions, he gave a tight smile that wasnâ€™t really a smile and scampered under the well-worn cloak of propriety. â€œI apologise,â€ he said quietly. â€œI ought to have realised itâ€™s late and you must be tired.â€ 

As he was about to turn away, though, Tripâ€™s icy mask marginally crumpled, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the torment behind it. It froze him in place. 

â€œTripâ€¦â€ he croaked out, his control slipping. The rest couldnâ€™t find a way into words, but at long last true communication flashed between them. â€œLet me in,â€ Malcolm heard himself say, voice veiled with concern.

Trip blinked; a second later he stumbled aside without a sound, and Malcolm heaved a silent sigh of relief. He knew this is where he had to be right now, hard as it might be. 

Malcolm walked to the circle of light that illuminated Tripâ€™s desk, then turned to face his friend. He winced inwardly at the sight of the quiet and still shape holding back in the darker part of the room, leaning against the closed door. If he had - perhaps unconsciously - hoped that he could help Trip just by listening to him, it was clear it wouldnâ€™t happen. The man was obviously waiting for him to do the speaking, and it was no secret Reeds were much better at guarding silence than filling it. 

Malcolm shot a wary glance at the immobile figure. â€œIt has been a trying day - â€ 

â€œA trying day? Now thatâ€™s somethinâ€™ new... â€˜Cause up to now our mission in the Expanse has been a real picnic.â€ 

Tripâ€™s face was in shadow, and although there had been a hint of sarcasm in his voice the words had been spoken rather more flatly than their meaning would have warranted. So this was it. Trip had no intention of acknowledging his feelings. Like after Elizabethâ€™s death, when he had pretended that his sister had been just like any other of the seven million killed in the Xindi attack. 

Malcolm stalled. He shouldnâ€™t let his friend hide behind this lie, yet he didnâ€™t want to provoke another outburst: the first one still stung. He pursed his lips, looking for a tactful way to say what needed to be said. 

â€œOur mission hasnâ€™t been easy, that is true, but this experience has beenâ€¦ difficult in a different way, on a more personal level,â€ he finally managed, keeping his voice quiet and non-confrontational. He braced himself and added, â€œYouâ€™ll only hurt yourself by denying it.â€

To his relief, there was no explosion of anger but just a soft, mirthless huff. 

â€œHurt myself?â€ Trip asked wearily. â€œThatâ€™d be nice, actually, just to feel something, because Iâ€¦ I canâ€™t feel a damn thing and itâ€™s gotten kind of disturbing.â€ He looked toward Malcolm but the shadows hid his eyes. â€œLooking at my dead double in a coffin oughtta be enough to arouse a few of those overwhelming human emotions Tâ€™Pol finds so annoyinâ€™.â€ 

He pushed off the door, and in the soft glow of the dimmed lights his features looked ashen. 

â€œI canâ€™t believe whatâ€™s happened,â€ he stammered on. â€œLast I remember Iâ€™m flyinâ€™ off the warp engine, and then I wake up in sickbay a week later to find that Iâ€™m alive only becauseâ€¦â€ His voice finally broke.

Malcolm passed a hand through his hair, feeling unnervingly out of his depth. â€œWhy donâ€™t you come and sit down,â€ he said gently. 

Stumbling forward, Trip obediently complied and went to his bunk. Despite his pretended numbness, he looked quite rattled, and Malcolm wondered briefly if he shouldnâ€™t insist on walking him to sickbay, but just as quickly dismissed the idea. The place, with its memories, was definitely to be avoided. In fact that was probably why Phlox had let the Engineer out of his clutches so quickly. 

As Trip sat slowly down, he shot Malcolm an enigmatic look. â€œHow was he?â€ he asked hesitantly. A cautious curiosity appeared to crack the impassive expression. 

Malcolm stared back at him, his brain drawing a blank. Bloody good questionâ€¦ 

â€œWho was he?â€ Trip continued, when silence stretched. â€œWas he anotherâ€¦ me?â€ Frowning, he shook his head. â€œHe had my face, my body --- hell, my birth marksâ€¦â€

â€œI wish I knew the right answer,â€ Malcolm replied, his eyebrows shooting up briefly. The truth was he was probably as confused as Trip. But this is what he was here for, after all, wasnâ€™t he? To help both of them understand, to try and find answers to their questions. 

He licked his lips. â€œHe wasnâ€™t you, Trip,â€ he stammered, stating the obvious. Well, he had to start from somewhere, and that much, at least, seemed certain. 

Trip was still looking intently at him.

â€œSim had his own memories,â€ Malcolm continued, striving to analyse the situation with a logical mind.

â€œBut mine as well.â€ 

It wasnâ€™t a question, and Malcolm gave Trip a surprised look. He hadnâ€™t thought heâ€™d know that. It wasnâ€™t long since the man had been back on his feet. But, he realised, the Captain and/or Phlox would have explained things. The thought actually brought a new understanding of what Trip probably wanted to hear from him. He wouldnâ€™t be so much interested in the technicalities as in his â€“ the crewâ€™s â€“ reactions and feelings. 

Taking the desk chair, Malcolm let himself fall limply onto it. His body ached with a weekâ€™s worth of tiredness. Well, with the ship trapped, rest had been a luxury that --- Ah, hell, who was he trying to fool? He had deliberately pushed himself to the limit so that he wouldnâ€™t have the time or the energy to think. And tension had done the rest. 

â€œNo earlier than a few days ago Sim wasâ€¦ only a baby,â€ he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. He re-opened them to find Tripâ€™s still fixed on him. â€œYou were a lovable child,â€ he breathed out, letting the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. 

â€œSim was a lovable child,â€ Trip corrected him pointedly. â€œYou just said he wasnâ€™t me.â€

Malcolmâ€™s already wan smile fell altogether. â€œRight,â€ he mumbled. 

There was a long silence. 

â€œBut there was some of me in him,â€ Trip suddenly blurted out, in a taut voice. â€œHe remembered my parents, my dog, my sisterâ€¦ how could he not be me?â€ he asked almost in anguish.

Once again, Malcolm was surprised at the amount of information Trip had gathered on his clone. â€œHow do you know all these things?â€ he couldnâ€™t stop himself from asking. 

Trip shot him a quick glance. â€œPhlox told me,â€ he said tersely, and Malcolm was sure he had detected a note of bitterness in the words. Had Archer not spoken to him?

Narrowing his eyes, Malcolm lost himself in a series of memories: one, of the Denobulan Doctor gently holding a baby, lingered in his mind. â€œPhlox was like a father to him,â€ he murmured, as if to himself. â€œI believe he is the one who suffered the most whenâ€¦â€ He caught himself at the last moment and stole a look, afraid of what heâ€™d read on his friendâ€™s face, but nothing clear appeared on it. Trip was still studying him closely. 

â€œNot the Captain?â€ he asked in a flat voice. 

Malcolm frowned, noticing Trip hadnâ€™t used the shortened nickname form as he usually did. 

â€œNot the Captain what?â€ he echoed to buy time, contrasting emotions warring in his breast. He had blessed Archer and cursed him a few times over, during the past few days, and still wasnâ€™t sure if he was more mad at him or grateful for what he had done. It was easy, after all, to criticise his decision; but what would he have done in his position? He had asked himself that, and hadnâ€™t found an answer.

â€œWas a father to him, suffered the most?â€ Trip repeated, pinning him with dark and challenging eyes. 

Under such a close scrutiny whatever he said would have to be the truth, Malcolm realised; and for once he didnâ€™t like it. The mixed feelings he felt towards the Captain at the moment risked tinting his answers, and he didnâ€™t want to say anything that would unnecessarily put the man in a bad light. Tripâ€™s friendship with Archer had been under strain recently, and his friend didnâ€™t need more on his mind right now. Yet Malcolm couldnâ€™t see how it was possible to play down Archerâ€™s part in what had happened. 

He paused and searched his heart for some â€˜comfortableâ€™ truth.

â€œThe Captain feltâ€¦ quite uneasy around Sim,â€ he eventually said, in a careful voice. Looking up from the floor, where his gaze had strayed, he saw Trip waiting for him to continue.

â€œI canâ€™t in all honesty blame him,â€ he went on, sounding protective to his own ears. â€œIt wasâ€¦ odd, to say the least.â€ 

Tripâ€™s eyes were riveted on him: the man looked to be weighing his every word. 

â€œWe all felt somewhat awkward around Sim, exceptâ€¦â€

â€œEven Tâ€™Pol?â€ 

Malcolm almost frowned in puzzlement, managing with an effort to hide his reaction. â€œI believe so, yes,â€ he answered. â€œPhlox and Hoshi were perhaps the only ones who didnâ€™t, or did to a lesser extent,â€ Malcolm continued after a pause. â€œThey took care of Sim when he was a baby and then a child, and that helped them develop a familiarity, I suppose.â€

â€œThe Captain didnâ€™t?â€ Trip insisted. It was painfully clear that he wanted to know how Archer had acted around Sim, what role he had played in his short life: if he had just been a cold-blooded Dr. Frankenstein or had let his humanity come through. 

Malcolm shifted in his chair. â€œThe Captainâ€¦ Captain Archer wasâ€¦ too involved to get close to Sim,â€ he said, his voice veiled with uncertainty. 

Well, how could Archer have developed a bond with a being he had created for spare parts, especially after discovering that, to serve that purpose, the clone would have to accept cutting his already short life even shorter? Malcolm knew, in fact, that not only had Archer not got close to Sim, but the two had had issues after it had become clear that Sim wouldnâ€™t survive the operation to harvest his brain tissue. That, however, was not something Malcolm was ready to tell his friend.

â€œAnd he had his hands full, we were in the middle of a critical situation,â€ Malcolm continued, realising again that he was unconsciously trying to justify the Captain for Tripâ€™s sake. â€œBut he did spend time with the boy. He let him play with Porthos, taught him to fly a model spaceship which I was told he had built with his father.â€

Trip blinked. â€œThe Captâ€™n is very attached to that. Never lets anyone touch it.â€ He frowned, adding softly as if to himself, â€œMust have felt he had to make something up to him.â€

Damn right, Malcolm mulled. And if there was any truth in the rumour he had heard, that the clone might have been able to live a normally long lifespanâ€¦ He felt a shiver travel down his spine. No. That was impossible. Archer wouldnâ€™t have asked Sim to sacrifice his life if that had been the case... and he certainly wouldnâ€™t have ordered him to his deathâ€¦ 

Malcolmâ€™s eyes scrunched closed, and he sprang up from his chair, his body reacting irrationally and of its own accord to the doubts that were crowding his mind; as if movement alone would allow him to escape them. 

â€œYou ok?â€ Trip asked as he slowly rose to his feet too, the first hint of emotion entering his voice in a long while. 

Passing a hand over his face, Malcolm tried to recompose himself. â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ he mumbled. â€œItâ€™s been a difficult week and Iâ€™m still a bit on edge.â€ With a soft, mirthless sound he added, â€œBloody well knackered too. Havenâ€™t slept much in the past few days.â€ 

He felt a hand on his arm, and the empathy of that small gesture. 

Trip squeezed his arm silently; then released him and walked a few steps away. Hands on his hips, he got lost in his thoughts, and Malcolm welcomed the moment of silence. It didnâ€™t last very long.

â€œHow well did you get to know him?â€ Trip went on to ask, swivelling to face him. 

Malcolm blinked. â€œIâ€™m afraid Iâ€¦â€ He faltered, feeling a stab of guilt. He hadnâ€™t exactly gone out of his way either to make friends with Tripâ€™s clone. He had kept his interactions with him short and strictly for work. â€œI was intrigued by him,â€ he eventually continued. â€œBut at the same time...â€

â€œHow was he?â€ Trip asked again.

â€œHe wasâ€¦ so uncannily like you, and yet different.â€ Malcolm struggled to meet Tripâ€™s eyes. At least a glint of life was back in them now. â€œThe more Sim got to be like you, the more I felt likeâ€¦ avoiding him,â€ he admitted with a grimace. 

He paused to collect his thoughts. 

â€œMy friend was in sickbay, in a coma,â€ he strived to explain. â€œTo get close to someone who looked and acted so much like him... almost felt like a betrayal.â€ 

Tripâ€™s jaw clenched. â€œAnd keepinâ€™ him at armâ€™s length didnâ€™t?â€ he spat out in sudden anger. â€œWhat fault was it of his if he had been created? If he had my looks, my memories, my skills?â€ 

Malcolm flinched under Tripâ€™s biting and rightful remark, almost regretting his previous impassivity. If Trip opened up the flood of his emotions he wasnâ€™t sure he knew how to dam it. Yet he had another unpleasant confession to make, before it risked leaving an ugly scar on his conscience. He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze to the floor. 

â€œAll the same, I did betray our friendship, Trip,â€ he forced out. â€œI didnâ€™t visit you once, while you were in sickbay. I couldnâ€™t handle seeing you in a coma and then bumping intoâ€¦ another you up and about the ship. I hid behind the excuse that we were in the middle of a crisis, and I holed up in the Armoury and buried myself in work, so that I wouldnâ€™t have to see too much, wouldnâ€™t have to think. I left you to fight your battle all alone.â€ He lifted his gaze, hoping the regret would be clear in it. 

Trip held it in silence for a long moment; then, closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the wall behind him. â€œDamn,â€ he cursed under his breath. â€œWhat a screwed up situation.â€

â€œSim had your bright mind and generous nature,â€ Malcolm continued after a beat. â€œHe came up with a plan to save the ship, and willingly sacrificed whatever was left of his already short life to save yours. I want you to know that even though I didnâ€™t feelâ€¦ comfortable enough to get close to him, he certainly earned my respect. He was a brave man.â€ 

Trip jerked his head back down a bit too abruptly at that, and Malcolm silently kicked himself. Perhaps he had said too much. After all he didnâ€™t know for certain what Phlox had told the Engineer about Simâ€™s death. 

â€œThe last thing Iâ€™d have wanted was to continue livinâ€™ through the sacrifice of someone elseâ€™s life,â€ Trip said tautly. 

Biting his lip, Malcolm mumbled, â€œI hope I havenâ€™t said anything thatâ€¦â€

â€œNo. Phlox had told me.â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s relief was short lived, for Tripâ€™s next, sharp question hit him with the force of a punch in the gut. 

â€œDid the Captain have a right to do what he did?â€ 

Have a rightâ€¦ Malcolm thought Archer had taken quite a few rights since entering the Expanse, but he couldnâ€™t deny that, with Earth to save, his decisions had been crucial. 

He heaved a deep breath. â€œBloody hell, Trip,â€ he murmured as he slowly expelled the air he had taken in. â€œIâ€™ve been asking myself this for days, and I still havenâ€™t found an answer.â€ Shaking his head, he added, â€œI doubt I ever will.â€ 

He turned and started pacing the small room, painfully aware of Tripâ€™s gaze following his every move. After a moment, unable to escape his thoughts any more than his friendâ€™s scrutiny, he stopped and faced him squarely. 

â€œI donâ€™t know if the Captain had a right to create a clone for spare parts; but perhaps, for the good of the mission, he was right trying everything he could to save this shipâ€™s Chief Engineer,â€ he reasoned. 

Trip took a few steps towards him, and pinning him with piercing blue eyes enquired tautly, â€œDid Sim cut his life short of his own free will?â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s mind reeled and he averted his gaze. There had been tension between Archer and Sim, and even a few moments ago he had wondered... But he trusted Archer, he wanted to â€“ bloody well had to, if he was to keep taking orders from him. Besides, he certainly wouldnâ€™t burden his already tried friend with unfounded suspicions.

â€œThe truth, Malcolm,â€ Tripâ€™s strained voice demanded. 

Blessing for once his ability to hide emotion behind impassive features, Malcolm refocused on Tripâ€™s face. â€œAs far as I know he did,â€ he said in a steady voice.

Probing eyes bore into him, and Malcolm had to remind himself he hadnâ€™t told a lie. Only refrained from voicing a doubt he really ought to refuse even to acknowledge. 

â€œIf you want truth,â€ he choked out, â€œIâ€™ll let you know that I am grateful that it is you standing here, speaking to me, and that youâ€™re not unconscious in sickbay or, worse yet, inside a torpedo casing adrift in space.â€ He cleared his throat. â€œI know how callous it must sound, butâ€¦â€

â€œNo,â€ Trip interrupted him firmly. â€œItâ€™s only human for you to feel this way.â€ His features softened as he added, â€œAnd you didnâ€™t betray our friendship, Malcolm. You were justâ€¦ caught in the middle of something bigger than you, and did what you felt you had to, to preserve your sanity. Thereâ€™s only so much a person can take.â€ 

â€œAnd how much can you take, Trip?â€ Malcolm burst out, weariness probably magnifying his concern. â€œYou have been going through a lot, even without this accident.â€ 

Trip frowned. â€œIâ€™ll take whatever is thrown at me, no choice in the matter,â€ he muttered darkly. With a sharp shrug of his shoulders he added, â€œIâ€™ll be alright.â€ 

Malcolm shook his head, grimacing, not at all convinced. 

And what had Trip done up to now? Asked him a sodding string of questions, one after the other - â€˜who was he, how was he, did you get close to him, did the Captainâ€¦â€™ 

Oh, yes, it was quite understandable that he should want to know all those things, butâ€¦ It was time the man did some talking himself, brought up some of those emotions he claimed he could not feel â€“ because Malcolm, of all people, wasnâ€™t going to buy that story. He knew that they were there, well bottled inside. 

Time to reverse roles, Malcolm decided. He walked to the nearest wall and leant with his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

â€œWhat did you feel, when you saw him?â€ Malcolm asked outright and rather bluntly, in a deep throaty voice. He was tired of tiptoeing around. Perhaps he was just plain tired, full stop. Bloody exhausted, actually. His stamina and patience were fraying. Or perhaps he instinctively felt he had to shock Trip out of his alleged numbness. Well, he did.

â€œWhat the hell do you think?â€ Trip snapped, swivelling to face him. â€œWhat kind of an idiotic question is that?â€ he snarled, eyes throwing daggers.

Malcolm tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in his throat without making it apparent. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Trip, but hurt the man had sounded, in his anger. Malcolm reminded himself this was ultimately for his friendâ€™s good, and forged ahead.

â€œWhat did you feel when you saw him, Trip?â€ he asked again, albeit much more gently. â€œIâ€™m not asking because I want to pry, believe me,â€ he added quietly, knowing he didnâ€™t need to say more.

Trip searched his gaze for a long moment; then let his chin fall to his chest and pressed two fingers on his eyes. â€œDisbelief,â€ he breathed out. â€œThatâ€™s all I could feel when I set eyes on him. It was likeâ€¦ me there, lifeless.â€ He looked up. â€œBut then came the pain, becauseâ€¦ this other me had saved my life, and I couldnâ€™t even thank him. And then the regret, that I would never get a chance to know him.â€ Words were coming fast and easy, now. â€œAnd the anger, that my life had meant the death of someone else. And guiltâ€¦â€

Malcolm raised questioning eyebrows. 

â€œIf I had been more careful with that damn experiment of mine all this wouldnâ€™t have happened,â€ Trip explained, waving an arm out, palm up. 

Malcolm didnâ€™t comment. A part of him could understand that very well.

â€œAndâ€¦â€ Blinking away unshed tears, Trip strived to continue, â€œI couldnâ€™t say I wasnâ€™t happy to be alive.â€

A few beats of silence later, after regaining control, he went on hoarsely, â€œThen, finally came the numbness. Like I wanted to shove all of those feelings in a dark room and lock them away.â€ He bit his lip. â€œI had to get numb to be able to go through theâ€¦ ceremony. The Captain didnâ€™t want me to attend, but Phlox convinced him that it was better if I did. And all I could think of, as I looked at the man lyinâ€™ in that torpedo casingâ€¦ was that it shouldâ€™ve been me; though actually I was havinâ€™ a hard time believing that it wasnâ€™t me in there, if you know what I mean,â€ he concluded, closing his eyes.

â€œI know perfectly well what you mean,â€ Malcolm murmured in a deep voice. â€œI was grateful for the pips on your shoulder, believe me.â€

Their eyes met. 

â€œGo get some sleep, Lieutenant,â€ Trip said quietly, breaking the moment. â€œYou look like hell.â€

Malcolm smirked unhappily, not liking the idea of going back to his quarters, knowing Trip had become insomniac after the attack on Earth and wasnâ€™t likely to catch any sleep soon. Perhaps he could convince him to get Phloxâ€™s help tonight. â€œWhy donâ€™t you let meâ€¦â€ he started; but the door bell interrupted him. 

They traded a surprised glance. It was past one by now. After a moment of hesitation, Trip went to answer the call. 

The door swished open and a drawn-faced Archer in a dishevelled uniform appeared on the other side of it. 

Malcolm felt an unexpected wave of relief. This â€“ he was sure of it now â€“ was the person Trip had expected, had hoped to see, when he had opened the door to him before. This was the man he really needed to talk to. Better late than never. 

â€œI hope I havenâ€™t woken you,â€ he heard Archer say, tough his voice was kept low. 

It took Trip a long second to reply. 

â€œNo. Malcolmâ€™s here,â€ he finally said, jerking his head in Malcolmâ€™s direction without averting his eyes from the Captainâ€™s face. 

â€œI see.â€ 

Shaking out of his immobility, Malcolm came forward. He didnâ€™t want his presence to become an obstacle to this much needed conversation. 

â€œCaptain,â€ he greeted softly, receiving a nod in reply. Turning to Trip, he added with a faint smile, deliberately echoing his earlier words, â€œIâ€™ll go get some sleep, then.â€ 

Trip gave him a long glance, and he looked more self-assured, if not serene. â€œThanks for coming by,â€ he said. 

His gaze tracking once again to those three Commander pips that meant so much more than their rank value, Malcolm murmured back, â€œDonâ€™t mention it.â€

As Archer passed Malcolm by, stepping inside the room, he clasped a hand to his arm in what Malcolm thought was a grateful gesture. 

Â§Â§Â§

The door swished closed and Malcolm stood looking at it pensively for a moment. He hoped the two men inside that room would be able to forget the mission, the ugliness, the hurt, the doubts, and bare their souls to each other. For he knew their souls were good, and if they managed that, their friendship would survive even this difficult test. 

Closing his eyes, he became aware of how tense his muscles were, and made a conscious effort to relax them, letting his shoulders slump. At least the nagging voice inside his head was no longer there. Perhaps now he could read a few pages of his book and then lose himself in unconsciousness. Heaving a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and went on his way.


End file.
